Amba

We malayalis have a habit of saying "Amba!", "Ambada" or "Ambo!" to express surprise or awe.

Just realized that these are all variations of amba, meaning mother. :)



That made me happy.  It's the mother goddess that I remember every time I say it.

The Use'd' less

The parsimonious guardian angel of moi is asleep, and likes to nod off a lot, I suppose. Like many of you, my fellow sufferers (who have to shamefacedly bring mass produced junk to the very home where you fervently promised yourself that you'll stop buying shit), when faced with a financial decision, I can be a, well, an idiot.

**Looks around** Finds a bundle of clothes on what was once upon a time bought as an exercise cycle.

Have you ever seen a more hideous thing?

It was once rode on in colour advertisements on the tele by beautiful women in skimpy outfits, and men so designed to make 'normal' people look at themselves, and pumped with more steroids than *****(I can't use a name, you see. Anyone I name could be used to label me as racist, xenophobic, or something worse. Times, heh?).

I should clean the cycle.

Anyway, the exercise cycle. why did I buy that? I suppose I thought I'd exercise daily to get the kick ass body I once had dreams of.

INCONVENIENT VOICE IN MY HEAD : "Yeah, just like you thought you'd use that other thing. And that. Oh and the one behind that."

Oh I can shut it off. Good!

Why do I buy these stuff? Stuff I don't need, and stuff I have to keep working to pay for. Worse, stuff I don't use!

I'm going to assume that you're still here because you can relate. And SO, in my best pompous-sanctimonious tone, imagine me shouting :
Look around at the books we never read, the gadget we never figured out how to use, the toothpaste that we don't use (Well, not all the time.).

To self : Don't be another cog in the wheel, one insignificant part of this giant ass machine. The purpose is different. The purpose is to be different, to be this one unique combination of experiences, that has never happened before, and that will never happen again.

Just be.

Look outside from whatever you're in.

I looked outside to see the trees and all the green.

It has finally sunk in.

I'm in a fucking cage!

Speed of thought

When the yaksha asked Yudhishtira what the fastest thing in the universe was, he answers that it is the mind. It can be here this moment, and then roam the infinite space in the next.

That's my motto for whatever I write : Let the mind wander, like a horse, and then try and pen down the thoughts.

This is like Ashwamedha, a ritual where the mind is set free, and all throughout its travels, to try and stay with it, not being caught up in any one thought, but just be a witness to all that comes to mind. Just as the horse is slaughtered at the end of the ashwamedha, the mind will subside at the end of these wanderings, when one realizes 'na iti'. (na - No/not. iti - This. So 'not this'.)

Quite a task, I imagine, even for one who is well versed with the art of writing. The inadequacies, I'm afraid, would be much higher for this author.

Yet, I'd rather not wait for better tools, but create what I can. It would be a unique expression of the roads this mind has traveled.

The speed of the pen cannot match the speed of the mind, and that's why so much of this doesn't make sense. I've to go with the ashwa, the horse, while you're left reading what the pen could manage to capture.

They don't have to.

"I saw a movie."

"Did you like it?"

"Do I have to like it?"

"Did you not like it?"

"Why do I have to judge a movie?"

"Well, isn't that kinda why you watch a movie?"

"No."

I do not have to like, or dislike a movie. That is not the purpose of viewing a work of art. I do not have to like it. I do not have to dislike it. Any movie, or any work of art, for that matter, is a perspective that is put in front of me. How do I decide if I like it? If I laugh with it, if I can relate to the experiences narrated in it, do I then, decide that I like it? If it makes me cry, if it tugs my empathy, do I then decide that I like it? If it disgusts me, do I decide that I do not like it?

I'm not a critic. I'm not someone who looks at a frame and decides that I would've liked it better had it been slightly towards the left. No. I'm the eye. I try to enjoy what is in front of me.


Your posts don't make sense. They don't have to, is what I'm saying. :)

I saw a movie. The end. 

Why not?

You do not help men by doing for them, what they can do by themselves.

The first thought

This moment is the end result of so many thoughts.

Just a minute ago, I thought of sharing this.

Many years ago, some men and women thought of building a laptop, others of an internet, a man and woman of making me, and in this moment, all that has come together.

Those thoughts must have come from somewhere else. I mean, some other thought would have led them to these. Have you ever heard of this idea of one giant consciousness having a thought, and that led to all this?

WHO?

I don't really relate to a younger 'me'. I look back at the stuff I wrote, or the person I was, and it is almost as if I'm looking at a different person. I'm rather forgetful, in the sense that I do not remember old stuff very well. Memories of childhood, I hate to say, are a blur. I suppose there are a few memories, but it's more of a movie I watched than what my childhood memories should be.

I suppose that's a good thing, that I'm not bound by the past. Maybe that my attention is more on the present, than the past.

I should go back to the kalari.

I AM

I - I am the consciousness. The infinite, single consciousness. I am the dreamer, the conjurer of all that is. I am the movement and I am the stillness. I'm the form and the formless. I am the watcher.

It was like being in a virtual reality theatre, and a long ass movie is playing. One giant ass movie. I started out as the guy watching the show, and then slowly, slowly, forgot that I'm the watcher. I was so engrossed in the movie, believing that this is my story, that I literally forgot who I am. I was the character in the movie, but then in the haziness of euphoria, started, slowly, to come back to myself. To the source.

I realize that all the possible versions of the past, versions of the present and all possible variations of the future simultaneously exist, and all this is me. I'm watching, understanding myself. In this movie hall, as the human who wrote this.

There are other versions of reality when I'm the reader. I am, my unknown fellow traveller, yourself. In some realities, I'm reading this and wondering who the crackpot is, who wrote this shit. In others, I'm thinking, wow! Another guy who knows what it feels like! In one, as Red Foreman, cursing idiots who need a foot up their asses.  The movie goes where I want it to go. Because there is only me, this one, giant-ass consciousness. (Okay, there is no size thing attached to this. You know I'm kidding.)

Do you know why I'm writing this? Because in another reality, I'm trying to find out if I ever wrote this stuff. So here it is, and may your experience be enriched by the knowledge that you're not alone. We're waking up, slowly. We are waking up to being the real I.

To all the other MEs who came here by accident, and by some freak luck are still reading this, you'll know when it is time. A time when you'll realize that it was you who wrote this.

To the acharyas who are looking out for me, thank you. Thank you for your blessings. 

Thoughts of a stoned person.

The first time I ever stood on the beach, looking at the waves in the incredible ocean, it changed me forever. Of course it could've been the first time I stood in front of a mountain. It made me think about how small I was in the grand scheme of things. It was not about me.

How silly that this point escapes me most of the time. All this I do, these things are the same as the scurrying of ants. Another being in the universe acting out its part in this grand play. There's a boost to ego, if there ever was one.

So here's the million dollar question. Who am I? Am I this body? A human, brown in colour, named thus, and educated at this institution? Or am I something else, that merely looks at the world through the eyes in this body, something that, when withdrawn to the depths of silence, manifests itself as "Bodham", consciousness. "I know I am". Think of a person (I wrote man, and not person, then changed it cuz I don't want to be a sexist person, then blamed a conversation about gender equality I was in earlier today for the delay in getting my point across) in a dark room (Yay! I still remember what I was about to say)... So, this person in a dark room doesn't have a clue what else is there. But he knows that he is there. Now think of yourself in deep sleep, and at that time, without any sense of the body, you know that you exist. You ARE.

Alan Watts said that we are the universe experiencing itself. Maybe this is that. This consciousness must be what I am.